


Overwatch ramblings

by LegendaryDork



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, FLUFF incoming, Gen, Other, Slice of Life, french people suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 23:27:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryDork/pseuds/LegendaryDork
Summary: Slices of life for the Overwatch fandom -- hopefully you'll like 'em





	Overwatch ramblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amélie is daydreaming about her past.

« Moi je cherche comme un naufragé

Mais comment faire pour la retrouver

Ce corps perdu dans la tempête

 

Mon amour est parti toujours [»](https://youtu.be/88BWHDykhA4)

\---

 

 

“Who do you think you are…”

 

She inhaled a long puff of her Marlboro cigarette, leaving a trail of thin lipstick on its butt.

 

_…Pauvre ingénue._

 

Tick.

 

Tock.

 

Every pathetic second of Amélie’s life was an irritable, painful, endless eternity. Her heart had stopped beating years ago, yet she still practiced her _saut de chat_ until her toes bruised. Until her bones ached. Until her breath stopped.

 

Amélie was looking for something that died inside her years ago.

 

So she smoked and drank – what a pathetic _cliché,_ for a French woman _._

 

The delicate wisps of smoke were a dull distraction, just like the sensation of her lungs consuming themselves slowly.

 

Barber’s _Agnus dei_ was enveloping the only warm room of _Château Guillard_ – and despite the crackles of the chimney, the proximity of the woman throwing an empty gaze at the flames embracing the wood fire, Amélie was cold.

 

So cold…

 

So cold she could not feel pain. She could not be sad, or resentful. She was just able to feel… How cold her body was.

 

Cold from her months of torture, cold needles, cold fluids in her veins. The pain ripped off her chest in a crescendo of octaves, until the last breath of her soul extincted, along with hope.

 

There is no hope for Amélie, but there is a new era of possibilities with the birth of Widowmaker. This cold had something comforting. It would always be there. The dust covering the Guillard’s bottles of wine would cover them like a hidden, tanned, treasure only a connoisseur could appreciate.

 

Her unbeating heart had something musical, saying it loudly. Like some puppet could entertain children. Un-beat-ing-heart. It had something…. Unique. An alliteration mimicking the organ.

 

In this calm and lonely night, only a light draught caressed Widowmaker’s face gently.

 

Giving up – on life, or on Gérard himself – contributed to the creation of something new. _Something special_.

 

Amélie had always flirted with perfection: an accomplished ballet dancer, getting married to a Overwatch hero, suffering a recondition, killing her very first target when it was _si facile.  
_

 

Oh! poor little Amélie, so weak, so breakable. This thin stick crushed so easily. But Widowmaker? A killing machine. One of the members of a terrorist organization. Keeping one bullet for every single life she had decided to take. She was living her life how _she_ had decided to, and not _how people expected her to._

Widowmaker?

 

She never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have recognized the [title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmyxYFhyfFQ), or just thought "cool, French!!", both are good. Thank you for reading my work, I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Please subscribe, leave a comment, a suggestion... Hearing from you guys is the best thing ever.


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